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Glyn Severn's Schooldays, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 27. A Little Victim |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A LITTLE VICTIM That same evening Singh went down the town to relieve his feelings and the heaviness of one of his pockets, for the day before both he and Glyn had received letters from the Colonel with their monthly allowance. Glyn had refused to join his companion, to Singh's great annoyance, for the occurrences of the day had left him touchy and ready to take offence at anything. "I wouldn't have refused to go with you," he said. "It's precious disagreeable, and you might come." "Can't," said Glyn firmly. "I can't come, and you know why." "Oh yes, I know why; all out of disagreeableness. You haven't got any other reason." "Yes, I have. You haven't written to father, have you, to thank him for what you got?" "No; I am going to write to-morrow." "And then when to-morrow comes you'll say the same, and the same next day. There never was such a fellow for putting off things." "Well, you needn't talk," cried Singh. "You haven't written to the Colonel to say you have got yours." "No," said Glyn firmly; "but I am going to write this evening." "No, you are not. Come on down town with me. I want to go to the old shop. Do come, there's a good chap! I hate going alone." "Why?" "Because if I go alone I always see so many things I want to buy, and then I go on buying, and my allowance doesn't last out till next time." "Nonsense! What difference would it make if I came with you? You'd be just as bad," cried Glyn. "Oh no, I shouldn't. When you are with me you always keep on interfering and stopping me; and then the money lasts out twice as well." "Well, look here," said Glyn; "wait till I have written my letter, and I will make it a short one this time, and go with you afterwards." "Oh, you are a disagreeable one! There won't be time then, and it will be too late for going out. There, you see if I ask you to go again." Uttering these words in his snappiest way, Singh whisked himself round and stalked off. "Can't help it," said Glyn to himself. "I will get it done, and then go and meet him. He'll soon cool down, and there will be time enough to go to the shop and get back before supper." But, all the same, Glyn uttered a low sigh as he thrust his hands into his pockets, to jingle in one the four keys that made his bunch, and in the other several coins which formed the half of the Colonel's previous day's cheque. The keys felt light in his right hand and the coins very heavy, and there was a something about him that seemed to suggest that they ought to be spent; but the boy turned his face rigorously towards the door of the theatre, when his attention was taken by Wrench's tom-cat. He was crouching upon the sill of one of the lower windows, which was raised a little way, and evidently intently watching something within. "What's he after?" said Glyn to himself. "Some bird got inside, I suppose, and flying about among the rafters." Walking quietly up to see if his surmise were true, the cat did not hear him till he was quite close, when it bounded off the sill and made for the Doctor's garden, to disappear among the shrubs. "I thought he was after no good," said Glyn to himself; and, before making for the door, he peered in at the window in expectation of seeing a robin flitting about--a favourite habit these birds had of frequenting the long room and flying from beam to beam. But there was no bird, Glyn seeing instead the back of little Burton, seated at his desk with the flap open resting against his head, as he seemed to be peering in; and just then the little fellow uttered a low sob. "Poor little chap!" thought Glyn. "Why, that brute of a cat must have had one of his white mice, and he's crying about it." Glyn went in at once and crept on tip-toe in the direction of his own desk, where he was about to write his letter; but he contrived to pass behind Burton unheard, and stopped short, to find that he was right, for the little fellow was bending low into his desk crying silently, save when a faint sob escaped him, while his outstretched hands were playing with three white mice. The door of their little cage was wide open, and they kept going in and out, to run fearlessly about their master's fingers, the cuffs of his jacket forming splendid hiding-places into which they darted from time to time, to disappear before coming out again to nestle in the boy's hands. Glyn watched him for a few minutes, amused and pleased by the little scene and the affection that seemed to exist between the owner and the tame pets he kept within his desk. "Why, the cat hasn't got one," he said; "he's only got three, and they are all there." Just then there was a heavier sob than usual, and Glyn sympathetically laid his hand upon Burton's shoulder. The little fellow gave a violent start, and the mice darted into their cage, as their owner turned guiltily round to gaze with wet and swollen eyes in his interrupter's face. "Why, what's the matter, youngster?" said Glyn, bestriding the form and sitting down by Burton to take his hand. "Oh, nothing, nothing," said Burton hurriedly, trying to withdraw his hand; but it was held too tightly, and he had to use the other to drag out his handkerchief from his jacket-pocket and wipe his eyes. "You don't cry at nothing," said Glyn gently. "You are too plucky a little chap. I saw Wrench's cat watching you, and I was afraid he had got one of your mice." "No, no; the poor little things are all right. But you oughtn't to have watched me, Severn." "I didn't. I was coming to my desk to write a letter to my father, only I heard you sob." "Oh!" ejaculated the boy. "Come: out with it. You know you can trust me." "Oh yes," said the little fellow earnestly. "I know that, Severn. You always are such a good chap." "Well then, why don't you tell me what's the matter?" "Because I was ashamed," said the other, nearly in a whisper. "Ashamed! You! What of?" "Because it hurts so, and I couldn't help crying," faltered the boy; "and I came in here so as no one should see me. Don't laugh at me, please!" "Laugh at you because you are in trouble and something hurts you! You don't think I should be such a brute?" "Oh, I didn't mean that, Severn," cried the boy earnestly, as he now clung to his sympathiser's hand. "I was afraid that you would laugh at me for being such a girl as to cry." "But tell me," said Glyn. "And I came in here to play with my mice, and it didn't seem to hurt me so much then, because it kept me from thinking." "Come, what was it?" said Glyn. "You are keeping something back." The little fellow tried to speak, but it was some minutes before he could command his voice. Then out came the story of the brutal kick he had received, and of how hard he had struggled to conceal the pain. "A beast!" exclaimed Glyn. And then half-unconsciously, as if to himself, "I shall be obliged to give him another licking after all." "Oh, do, please, Severn!" cried the little fellow joyously. "I'd give anything to be as big and strong as you, and able to stick up for myself; for, you see, I am such a little one." "Oh, you will get big and strong some day," said Glyn. "Only wait." "Yes, I'll wait," said the boy; "but it will be a long time first, and old Slegge is going away at the end of this half, so that I can't fight him myself. But I say, you will give him another licking, please?" "Well, we'll see," said Glyn. "I dare say he'll make me before I have done." "That's right," cried little Burton joyously; and he began to busy himself in putting his mice together, as he called it, and hooking the wire fastening before shutting up and closing the lid of his desk, while it was quite a different face that looked up into Glyn's, as the boy cried: "There, it doesn't hurt half as much now." "If I were you I'd go and wash my face," said Glyn. "What; is it dirty?" "Oh, it's all knuckled and rubbed. You must have been crying ever so long; your eyes are quite swelled. There, be off. I want to write my letter." While Glyn had been earnestly engaged comforting Burton and before he started his letter, he had not observed the return of Singh with his pockets looking bulgy and his face wearing a good-tempered smile. "Done?" he said, as Burton took his departure. "What, you back again?" cried Glyn. "I thought I should have been in time enough to come and meet you. If you had been another quarter of an hour I should." "What; did you mean to come?" cried Singh joyously. "Of course." "Oh, you are a good chap! Here, come on up to our room. Look here." He slapped his pockets as he spoke, and half-held open that of his jacket, the thought of the succulent treasures contained therein having completely swept away all his past ill-humour. "Oh, I don't know that I want anything to-night," said Glyn.--"Yes, I do. I want to find little Burton. After we had gone away to-day Slegge kicked him brutally." "What for?" cried Singh indignantly. "Because he wouldn't bring an insulting message to fetch us back." "Oh!" cried Singh. "And you wouldn't stop and lick him! He'll get worse and worse. Poor little chap! I like Burton." "So do I," said Glyn rather coldly. "What makes you speak like that?" asked Singh. "I was thinking about what I ought to do." "To do? What do you mean?" "About giving him such a hiding as he deserves--that is, if I can." "Oh, you can," cried Singh joyously; "and you will now, won't you?" "Well, I wasn't going to because he was insolent to me; but now he's been such a brute to that poor little chap I feel as if I ought to--and I will." But somehow that encounter did not come off, and possibly the recollection of the active little white quadrupeds that were closely caged-up in the desk may have suggested the idea enunciated by the Scotch poet who said:
In fact, the thoughts of Dr Bewley's pupils were greatly exercised about the trouble that hung like a cloud over the school; and in its dissipation Glyn Severn and Singh had a good deal to do, while, oddly enough, Wrench's cat played his part. _ |
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